


Not Too Bad

by inquisitor_tohru



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Character Study, Cultural Differences, Every Woman 2020, Fereldan Culture and Customs, Fish out of Water, Gen, In-Laws, Male-Female Friendship, Orlesian Culture and Customs, Pre-Canon, Redcliffe (Dragon Age), Referenced Isolde Guerrin/Eamon Guerrin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25105795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/pseuds/inquisitor_tohru
Summary: Isolde chose to remain in Redcliffe with the man she loved, but living as an Orlesian in post-war Ferelden isn't the easiest thing in the world.
Relationships: Isolde Guerrin & Teagan Guerrin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7
Collections: Every Woman 2020





	Not Too Bad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesunsaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunsaid/gifts).



The Arlessa of Redcliffe was a miserable cow. Isolde knew what they said about her. She'd learned too late that the polite response when someone asked how you were was "fine", or at least "not too bad". In Orlais the former would have been considered extremely _im_ polite at best, and, at worst, bragging about your good fortune. A good Orlesian was obligated to exchange minor complaints with another when asked how they were - not that she'd ever been an exceptionally _good_ Orlesian, but she _had_ grown up there. Some of it was bound to have rubbed off (which, incidentally, was another thing the locals said about her). It didn't matter that she'd sold out her own countrymen to aid Ferelden, because she was still a rude, stuck-up Orlesian bitch.

She didn't really blame them.

Given the proximity to the border, Redcliffe had suffered even longer under the Orlesian occupation than many other Fereldan settlements - most recently under the rule of her own family, no less, until the Fereldan people rose to reclaim their freedom. So, no, she didn't blame merchants, millers, and fisherman for resenting a symbol of their suffering. Not that it made it any easier when she felt Eamon's servants' shrewd eyes on her in the castle, or the scrutinizing gazes of the villagers when she ventured to the village market.

Eamon seemed more or less oblivious to it all, or at least acted as if he didn't hear gossip about having married an Orlesian lass too young for him, who was probably a _spy_ and almost definitely sleeping with his younger brother, Teagan. Part of it was true - she _had_ been a spy during the rebellion, and she was young (though _too_ young was debatable). The insinuations about her relationship with the Bann of Rainesfere were at least a source of amusement to her. They might not be bound by _blood_ but she considered Teagan every bit a brother, as well as a friend and confidante.

"Do you ever wish you'd gone back?"

"Is this some kind of test, to see if I'm worthy of your brother?" She appreciated that Teagan was one of the few people who frequented Redcliffe Castle she could joke with. She loved Eamon with all her heart, and knew he cared for her deeply, but he was a serious man, not particularly given to humour.

"Ah, you found me out!" He held his hands up, and there was that easy laugh of his. Isolde wished she could remember being able to laugh so carelessly. She wished her husband could. She _hoped_ the laughter would come easily again, one day. As if reading her mind, Teagan's expression became more sombre. "There are things about my country that I don't love, believe it or not. But I couldn't bear to leave it behind forever." He paused, as if deep in thought. "Also, I've heard your cuisine puts ours to shame." Isolde gave him a tight smile.

"As if that is difficult." Teagan grinned back, and she wondered if the food was one of the things he "didn't love". And what the other things were, but she wouldn't push him to elaborate. He'd do so if and when he felt like it. "I _do_ miss the food, and my cousin, Guinevere. We write to one another, but...well, you know."

"I'm sure my brother would welcome her as a guest of Redcliffe Castle. You are allowed to have friends," he said gently, and then winked. "Even other...you know..."

They said it in unison: _"Orlesians!"_ Teagan laughed again, and Isolde smiled, the low rumble of a chuckle catching in her throat.

"It is as you say. Eamon has said as much himself - he does not wish for me to be isolated. But she will not come."

"Ah." Realisation swept across his features. Isolde had been disinherited after helping the Fereldan resistance at their expense, and their family weren't privy to the letters she and Guinevere exchanged, always coded upon Isolde's insistence, in order to safeguard Guinevere's position. Now that she thought about it, _that_ was probably where the spy rumour came from. Well, in _her_ humble opinion, it was far more impolite to peek at someone else's personal letters than to share a small complaint about the hassle of refurbishing the solar (where in the _world_ was she meant to finish her embroidery?)

"Well then, perhaps you could accompany Eamon when he next has business in Denerim? I promise you, the games are far easier to navigate than those in the Orlesian court, and I have no doubt that there are ladies who would _leap_ at the chance to hear about the latest fashions in Orlesian formalwear." Isolde shifted uncomfortably as she looked down at her plain garments, the hem of her skirt caked with dried mud. She could easily pass as a Fereldan woman - until she opened her mouth, that is. And she'd very rarely received an invitation to the Orlesian court.

" _Look_ at me, Teagan. Do I look as if I know or _care_ for fashion?"

"Ah," he grinned, "but they don't need to know that. You could have them wearing live birds in their hair and say it was all the rage in Orlais." At that, she _did_ manage to laugh.

"That _was_ all the rage in Orlais a few years ago. If they lost track of them, the servants followed the stink of birdshit to find their masters and mistresses. Or so they said." Whether because of the notion itself or his surprise at the foul language escaping an _arlessa's_ lips, Teagan positively _erupted_ with laughter.

"Oh my...Orlais will never cease to amaze me. Well, I'd appreciate it if you brought that back - it would make council meetings a good deal more lively." Maybe Teagan had a point - it may well do her good to venture outside of Redcliffe. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad. (Though she remained unconvinced about the birds.)

"I shall have to find a good seamstress," she conceded, smoothing the rough spun fabric of her dress. "I can't very well go in _this._ " Or any of the other four identical dresses that resided in her boudoir.

"Don't worry, I know _just_ the one."


End file.
